


Sparks Fly

by FireflysLove



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Meet-Cute, Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7316107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflysLove/pseuds/FireflysLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Single hot dad Steve picks up his kids from his ex-wife Sharon every other Friday in front of the grocery store where Bucky works. They meet, fluff happens, followed by your standard HAE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the Zac Brown Band's Highway 20 for this, but it's not turning out to be sad.

The beat up red truck pulled into the spot next to the white sedan, just like it did every other Friday. Bucky mindlessly scanned the woman’s groceries as he watched the blond man emerge from the truck. He approached the car, and the back doors burst open to emit two small blonde balls of energy. They leapt into his arms, and he staggered only a little under their weight. Bucky can see their mouths moving, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. At a more sedate pace, a woman, also blonde, emerged from the front of the car. She said something to the man, before kissing each of the children on the forehead and getting back into the car. They waved vigorously to her as she backed out and drove away.

By this time, the transaction had ended, and Bucky handed the customer her receipt. She says something inane, and he responds in kind. Bucky looked up again, but the man wasn’t there anymore. A few minutes later, his lane’s belt is filled with soda and candy, and he looked up into amused blue eyes.

“How’s it going today?” he asked the man.

“The same as usual,” he replied. “Brynn, put that back, I got you Skittles already.”

The little girl pouts at him, “But these are _purple_.”

Bucky nudges the drawer under his register open, and silently praised whatever god was listening.

“I’ve got a purple sticker for you,” he says, pulling it out, and leaning over the scanner to offer it to her. She smiles shyly at him.

“What do you say?” her father prompts.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

Bucky smiles at her, and turns to the boy, who is hiding behind his father’s leg. “Do you want a sticker?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” the boy says. Bucky offers him one, and he sticks it to his forehead.

“Caleb,” the man says warningly.

“No, it’s a good look!” Bucky says.

He goes back to scanning the candy and soda. “Party planned tonight?”

“We’re going to stay at home and marathon the original trilogy of Star Wars,” he says. “They’ve never seen it.”

“They don’t… know?” Bucky asks, not wanting to quote Darth Vader and ruin the surprise.

“I’ve looked forward to this for _years_ ,” he says. “It was one of the things on Sharon and mine’s baby bucket list when she was pregnant. But that… well, I’m going to spoil it for her.”

“Sharon’s their mother?” Bucky asks, without thinking about how personal that question is.

The man nods. “I pick them up here every other weekend,” he says.

“I noticed,” Bucky says. “Like clockwork.”

The man gives him an odd look, and Bucky has the good sense to blush. “Sorry, that’s creepy.”

“Not the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard,” the man says. “I’m a freelance artist. People give me some… odd requests.”

“Anything I would’ve seen?” Bucky asks.

“Probably not. I mostly do work for the local LGBT scene,” the man says, digging in his pocket. “But here’s my card anyway. Look me up if you want.” He shrugs. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Bucky,” Bucky says, pointing to the nametag which, of course, reads _James._

Steve raises a questioning eyebrow.

“My middle name’s Buchanan,” Bucky says.

“James Buchanan?” Steve asks. “Did your parents hate you?”

“Sometimes I think so,” Bucky says.

They’re interrupted by a loud throat clearing from the man behind Steve.

“Sorry, sir,” Bucky says, and quickly finishes the transaction.

“Look me up,” Steve says, and then wrangles his children out the door.

The next customer glares after him, and Bucky apologizes again, his mind on the business card burning a hole in his pocket.

 

It’s six hours before he gets home. He throws his bag on the dingy kitchen table and opens his laptop.

_Steven G Rogers_ as it turns out is a prolific artist. He seems to mainly do portraits of people, and from his captions, they’re all members local LGBT organizations. Bucky actually recognizes a few of them from when his friends have dragged him to the gay club. Another page reveals the faces of many of those same friends. He doesn’t even think about dinner when he drags out his phone and hits Natasha’s name.

“Hey, you been holding out hot artists on me?” he demands after her first “Hey.”

“What?” she asks, bewildered.

“You know Hot Dad?”

“The guy you’ve been crushing on for months? With the kids?” Nat asks.

“Yeah, his name is Steve and apparently he did your portrait last winter,” Bucky says.

“Wait, you’ve been staring at _Steve Rogers_ for over a year and you didn’t know who he was?” Nat says. “God, you have _got_ to get out more, James. Yes, I know who Steve is.”

“Is he…” Bucky says hesitantly.

“Queer?” Nat asks bluntly. “Well, I never asked, but he _was_ making eyes at Sam.”

“Too bad Sam’s not into that,” Bucky says.

“Sam’s not into anything, and you damn well know it.” Nat says. “Is that all you want? I’ve got a hot date.”

“Don’t let her eat anything you cook,” Bucky says.

“Them,” Nat replies. “They’re both chefs, though, so you don’t need to worry about their gastrointestinal health.”

Bucky sticks his tongue out at his phone.

“Don’t be a child, James,” Nat says. “Put your tongue away. And text Steve. The worst that happens is he says no.” Then she hangs up.

Bucky agonizes over his phone for nearly half an hour before he finally types, “ _Hey, I looked you up. You do nice work_ ,” and hits _send_ before he can chicken out again. He cringes the entire time, waiting for a response.

What he gets is… gibberish ** _. OIFsoigjspdogksj.l…222…sfs_**

_?_ he sends back.

**_Sorry, Brynn got a hold of my phone. Thanks! I try. =-)_ **

Bucky nearly loses his mind at the emoticon. This man is such a _dork_.

_I know some of the people you did last winter_ Bucky replies.

**_Oh?_** Comes the reply, then, **_I thought that was behind closed bedroom doors ;)_**

Bucky blushes, embarrassed even in his own kitchen, alone. _I mean you did portraits of a few of my friends. Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson._

**_Natasha Romanoff. Great cheekbones, red hair?_ **

_Looks like she could kill you with two paper clips and a piece of gum?_

**_That’s the one._ **

Bucky thinks for a few minutes about a reply, and then his stomach reminds him that he hasn’t eaten in hours, and he gets distracted making dinner. By the time he gets back to his phone and sends a _Sorry_ , it’s after 10pm, and Steve doesn’t reply.

The next day is a Saturday, and Bucky is closing, so he sleeps in until nearly noon. He rolls out of bed to a phone full of texts, most of them from Nat, a drunken recap of her night, which apparently went well. At the bottom of the list, though, at _six am?? On a SATURDAY???_ Is a small **_Good morning =-}_** from Steve.

This man is trying to kill him, Bucky thinks.

Bucky replies _How are the little ones?_

**_Hungry,_** Steve replies immediately. **_Know any good cooks?_**

_Apparently Nat’s sleeping with a few_ Bucky replies before he can think better of it.

**_Unfortunately I don’t have her number_ ** Steve replies with a frowning emoji.

They text for a few hours while Bucky goes through his morning routine, and before he knows it, he has to be at work in twenty minutes with a fifteen minute bus ride. He throws the phone in his bag and hops out the door, pulling his shoes on as he goes.

It’s a long, boring shift, and he checks his phone on his break, but Steve hasn’t replied.

Finally, he gets out late, after eleven, and goes home, takes a shower, and collapses into bed without even bothering to eat dinner.

He’s got Sunday off, the only day for the next seven, and he takes it to run errands. Bucky’s just walking out of Target when he runs into Steve and his kids in the parking lot.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says.

“I ran out of paint, and Brynn insists she’s going to do a self portrait better than I can,” Steve says, looking fondly at his daughter. “Who am I to say no?”

Bucky kneels down to Brynn’s level, “I’m sure you’ll do a much better job. Little fingers are always better for painting fine details anyway, aren’t they?” he asks her.

She nods, and smiles. “I’m gonna be purple!”

Bucky stands back up. “Good luck,” he says, meaning it fully

Later that night, he gets a picture from Steve of Brynn’s painting. She’s painted herself as Darth Vader, and Bucky nearly falls out of the chair with the laughter that rocks his body.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a wardrobe malfunction

It’s six weeks after they begin texting regularly, late on a Wednesday night, that Bucky finally gets up enough courage (more than a bit of it liquid) to ask Steve out on a date. He’s still never actually _asked_ Steve if Steve’s into men, but… well…

**_Sure! Sharon’s keeping the kids next weekend for her mom’s birthday_ ** Steve replies **_Do you work Saturday night?_**

_Saturday night is perfect_ Bucky replies, his entire being quivering with excitement. He hasn’t felt like this since his first date in high school.

**_Have a place in mind?_ **

Bucky blanks here, he hasn’t thought much past the actual question itself. _Not really._

**_A friend of mine owns a bar a few blocks down the street from my apartment, if you’re into that kind of thing_ **

_Alcohol? Me?_ He attaches a picture of the two empty beer bottles on his shitty coffee table.

**_:P_ **

He replies with every alcohol emoji he can find. Steve doesn’t reply again, but it’s late, and he’s going out of the city to paint a commission of an incredibly rich woman as a gift to her husband. From what Bucky’s gathered, he’s not thrilled about the subject matter, the woman is getting on in years and she wants to do a nude, but she’s also willing to pay whatever Steve asked, as he found out throwing out an outrageous number, and her agreeing to it. Sometimes the money was worth it for the images burned into the brain, he said.

 

The rest of the week passes interminably slowly, and by the time Saturday afternoon rolls around, Bucky’s itching to get out of work. He clocks out at 6:54, and nearly runs out the door. By the time he gets home, he’s got less than an hour before Steve shows up. He considers shaving briefly, but after scrubbing a hand through the scruff decides it’s not worth the shaking hands that’ll probably just give him a bunch of nicks anyway. He showers quickly, washing the retail dust off so fast he rubs his skin red. He gets out of the shower at 7:24 and swears loudly as he realizes his hair is never going to dry in time. He’s been letting it grow lately, more from neglect than anything else. He turns to the closet to pull out another towel to dry it as much as he can when he finds the handle of a hairdryer staring him in the face.

Bucky shrugs, he’s never seen the thing before in his life, but it’s exactly what he needs at the minute. It works, and he sets about to drying his hair while simultaneously brushing his teeth. Once it’s dry to the touch, he runs into his bedroom and pulls on the clothes he spent far too much time picking out the night before. Jeans and a button down, but the sleeves pushed up because he’s absolutely the most casual person ever and not a complete nervous wreck… right?

At 8 on the dot, his doorbell rings, and he sprints to open it.

Steve is standing outside, a jacket in his hand, looking far more polished than Bucky feels. They’re dressed similarly, although apparently Steve has a thing for vests, and Bucky’s not complaining, because the man has the proportions of a fucking _Dorito_. When he comes inside, Bucky nearly faints at the sight of his ass in the jeans. He barely holds himself together as he shuts the door behind Steve.

“How was your day?” Steve asks.

“Long,” Bucky replies, going to the closet to get his own coat. “But hopefully getting better now.” He shoves his keys, wallet, and phone into his pockets, and goes to the door.

Steve clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, are you going to leave like that?” he asks.

“Huh?” Bucky asks stupidly.

“You’re… not wearing any shoes… and your shirt is half buttoned… and your… hair…” Steve says as tactfully as possible.

“Well… shit,” Bucky says elegantly. “I’m …”

“Nervous?” Steve asks.

“Something like that,” Bucky replies.

“Take a deep breath. Have a drink of water. I’m not going anywhere,” Steve says, a smile brightening his face.

Bucky follows his advice, and buttons his shirt. He’s going into the bedroom to get a pair of socks when he passes a mirror and sees his hair. “What the hell?” he asks his reflection.

Steve’s head pops around the corner. “Ever blowdry your hair before?” he asks.

“No,” Bucky says. “I found this thing randomly in my closet…”

Steve laughs, and Bucky doesn’t think it’s at him, but rather at the… massive thing that his hair has become.

“Go get socks and then come here for a minute and sit down,” Steve says.

Bucky goes into his room and spends perhaps more time than he needs to getting a pair of socks and definitely not hyperventilating into his sock drawer. When he comes back to the kitchen, Steve’s holding a hairbrush and an elastic. Bucky sits down, and Steve, possibly by black magic, sets his hair to rights. When he goes into the bathroom to look at it again, it resembles none of its previous form, instead something closer to the style he wears normally, a bun that’s perhaps slightly neater than he ever manages to get it.

“How…” he starts to ask.

“Brynn’s hair is a pretty similar texture to yours, actually,” Steve says with a shrug.

“I think I’m done having crises for the evening,” Bucky says.

“You should probably put on shoes before we leave,” Steve says.

 

They get to the bar a little before 9, and the entire building seems to be vibrating from the bass that thumps out of the speakers. Bucky tenses a little walking in, but to his relief, Steve leads him upstairs to a much quieter room.

“This is the pub, that’s the club,” Steve says. “I like it a lot better up here.”

“It’s much quieter,” Bucky says. “Clubs are… a bit much.”

“I’m not 19 anymore, and neither are my ears,” Steve says, taking a seat at the long bar. The wood is scarred, but polished to a high gloss.

“How old are you, anyway?” Bucky asks.

“26,” Steve replies. “But half the time I feel like I’m 90.”

“Huh,” Bucky says. “I thought you were older, given the kids and all.”

Steve snorts, and Bucky doesn’t think it’s in humor. “I’ll tell you that story sometime. After a few more beers, maybe,” he says darkly.

Bucky can sense the subject change, and takes it in hand.

“So let me tell you about this customer excuse me _guest_ I had today,” he says, and launches into a story.

Three beers later, Steve’s nearly crying from laughter at Bucky’s stories. He’s making half of this shit up, but he doesn’t think Steve actually cares. They’re leaning into each other’s personal space, and all of Bucky’s nervousness from before has evaporated.

He looks over at Steve’s face in the dim pub lighting, and his face is flushed with laughter and alcohol. It makes his eyes look even bluer than they normally do. Bucky’s struck with a not-so-sudden urge to kiss him, but he tamps it down. He’d vowed to himself earlier in the day that if he was going to kiss Steve, he was going to do it sober and remember every minute of it.

Steve sighs, but his smile doesn’t dim. “It’s getting late, and I have a call early in the morning with Brynn and Caleb.”

“Yeah, I have to work close tomorrow,” Bucky says.

He’s expecting to walk Steve home, but when he stands he finds that he’s far more intoxicated than he previously realized.

“Shit,” he mutters.

“There’s no way I’m letting you go home like that,” Steve says. “It’s three blocks to my apartment. You can sleep on the couch … if you want…”

Bucky briefly considers getting a cab, but it’s a lot of money and Steve’s couch is feeling very tempting at the moment, so he nods, and they stumble back to Steve’s apartment together. At some point, Steve offers him a tshirt and a pair of sweatpants, which Bucky ducks into the bathroom to put on before he collapses into oblivion on the couch, not even registering when Steve softly puts a blanket over him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's beginning to look longer than I originally thought.

Bucky wakes to a voice talking somewhere in the distance. He rolls over to thump on his wall, get his neighbor to shut up, but he rolls right off the couch and lands with a thud. He realizes belatedly that he’s still at Steve’s, less hungover than he might have thought he’d be the night before, and that the voice is Steve Skyping with his kids.

Bucky stretches, and wanders toward the bathroom, being as quiet as possible. He finds a toothbrush conspicuously laid out on the counter, still in the package, and assumes it’s his to use. After brushing his teeth and his hair, he comes back out and finds Steve sitting in the kitchen, tablet in his hands as he shows the camera something on the counter. Waffles, apparently. Bucky tries to duck behind the corner of the hallway before the camera sees him, but he hears the kids on the tablet say something, and suddenly his hands are full of portable computer and a pajama-clad Caleb is staring at him with accusing eyes.

“You stole Daddy’s shirt!” he says.

“He’s just borrowing it, Cay,” Steve says. “I’m sure he’s going to give it back.”

“Of course,” Bucky says.

“Whossat?” comes Brynn’s voice from offscreen. The camera tilts, and her small face is far too close to it.

“Bucky!” she says. “Hi!”

“Hi, Brynn,” Bucky says, coming out less strangled than he’d feared.

Steve evidently understands, and quickly takes the tablet back, effortlessly distracting his children into something less dramatic than their favorite grocery cashier wearing their father’s clothes, in his house, on a Sunday morning. A few minutes later, Steve comes back, less a tablet, and shoves his hand through his hair.

“Sorry about springing it on you like that,” he says by way of apology. “I knew Caleb saw you and would ask and…”

“It’s alright,” Bucky shrugs. “Now… are those waffles?”

 

* * *

 

It’s noon before Bucky is back at his apartment, with plans for dinner on Tuesday night. He spends most of the day in a half-daydream state, and barely notices the bitchiest of his customers that evening. He eats leftover pizza, cold, for dinner and promptly collapses into bed.

The next morning he finds himself staring at his bathroom sink, the blow dryer sitting on it. It had to come from _somewhere_ , and he can’t remember ever buying one. Ex-girlfriend? But no, none of them had stuck around long enough to leave a hair dryer. Ex-boyfriend, then? Probably not. And then he flips it over. There, scratched into the bottom of the handle: _Property of N.A.R._

He whips his phone out and calls Nat. She answers with a “What do you want?” and he replies “I know your secret.”

There’s a moment of silence, then, “What?”

“Your hair is always perfect. There’s never been any explanation, but _now I know_ ,” he says, cackling only half mockingly.

“James, what on earth are you talking about?” she asks.

“The hair dryer in my closet? Property of NAR? Ring any bells?” he asks.

“There’s a hair straightener under your fancy towels, too,” she says. “I didn’t think that was a secret.”

“Uh huh,” he replies, twirling the cord of the hair dryer. “Do you know what I do with the ‘fancy towels’?”

“Do I… want to know?” she asks.

“Y’know how Mrs. Horrison’s cat Kaye likes to jump through the window and puke on my floors?” he asks.

“You clean it up with those towels, don’t you?” she asks.

“I’m a single guy living alone, what the fuck do I need _fancy towels_ for?”

“Hot dates?” she asks, and he can tell where this is going.

“I’ll have you know I slept on his couch,” Bucky says.

He can practically hear her perfectly-groomed eyebrow raising. “Oh?”

“Nothing happened. I was too drunk to go home, so I crashed there,” Bucky says with a shrug.

“So the real question is, why do you even _have_ fancy towels?” Nat asks.

“My grandmother thought I needed them when I moved out. If I hadn’t seen her pull them out of a Goodwill bag, I wouldn’t use them for the cat puke,” he says.

“I’ll… just remember not to use them,” Nat says.

Bucky looks down at his watch and swears.

“Late?” Nat asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky says.

“Have fun at work,” Nat says, and hangs up before Bucky can reply.

Bucky runs out and hops around, and gets halfway to work before he realizes he’s forgotten his nametag at home. Too late to go back, guess he’s Trevor today.

Work is boring, as per usual. There’s a moment of interest in the middle of the day when a child spills, somehow, an entire case of fruit punch on aisle 5’s floor, but it’s nothing a little mopping can’t fix.

The next day passes much the same, save for the fact that Bucky’s practically jittery with anticipation for dinner that night. This time, he’s determined to be fully dressed when Steve arrives. He is, in fact, even wearing shoes when the buzzer buzzes, and he lets Steve in.

“Dressed this time, are you?” Steve asks.

“I can, er, usually function as an adult,” Bucky replies.

Steve smiles. “Shall we?”

They end up at Olive Garden. Say what you will about commercialized Italian food, but Bucky’s a sucker for breadsticks.

He orders some peachy ice tea thing, and Steve raises an eyebrow at that, but orders the same. They spend the meal trading stories from their childhood, Bucky’s rambling on about the time his sister dared him to dye her hair purple when the dessert menu comes out.

“Oh, chocolate cake,” Bucky says. “It’s melty and everything.”

“Well, if we aren’t drinking, we might as well get chocolate,” Steve says with a smirk.

The waitress brings it out with two forks, and it takes halfway through the damn cake before Bucky finally decides to offer Steve a bite off his fork. Steve takes it and does unspeakable things to the fork that give Bucky warm fuzzy feelings in places he’d rather not address in public. He returns the favor.

Eventually, they head back to Bucky’s apartment for a movie and popcorn. Cheaper than going to the movies, especially since the only thing out now that looks even mildly interesting is a kids’ movie that Steve’s seen at least twice with Caleb and Brynn.

They watch shitty horror movies that still scare the shit out of both of them until they’re huddled together under a blanket, crying from laughter at the awful special effects and their own jumpiness.

“I think that’s enough horror for the night, I still have to sleep,” Bucky says. “And this apartment’s kinda creaky at night, especially when it’s just me.”

“I’d offer to stay, but…” Steve says.

“Yeah, I know, you’ve got a job early in the morning. What time is it anyway?” Bucky says, checking his phone. It’s just after midnight.

“That late already?” Steve sounds surprised. “I should get going.”

“Can’t run on two hours of sleep anymore?” Bucky asks, standing and offering a hand to Steve.

“Never could,” Steve says. “Not even when the twins were newborns. I was basically a zombie for the first two years of their lives. But… well, like I said, that’s a story for a couple of beers and not so late at night.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Bucky says.

Steve’s just shrugging his coat on when he turns back to look at Bucky, who’s leaning in the doorframe of the kitchen. He looks thoughtful for a minute, then steps forward, raising a hand tentatively toward Bucky’s head. Bucky steps forward, answering the unasked question, and Steve buries his fingers in Bucky’s hair.

“You have such beautiful hair,” he says. “We should get Brynn to put a bunch of barrettes in it. She’d get a kick out of that.”

It’s not what Bucky was expecting him to say, but he says anyway, “That’s what my sister’s kids do every time I visit.”

“Oh, and would you mind terribly if I kissed you?” Steve asks.

“It’s about damn time,” Bucky replies, and then Steve’s kissing him.

It’s not the best kiss Bucky’s ever had, but it’s damn well not the worst, and promising better ones in the future. He takes the opportunity to bury his fingers in Steve’s hair, messing it up very intentionally.

When they break apart, Steve’s got a massive smile on his face.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he says.

“Me too,” Bucky says.

“Well, I will just leave you to… imagine the rest,” Steve says. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it,” Bucky says. Steve flashes him another smile and ducks out the door.

Bucky slowly sinks down the doorframe until he’s sitting on the floor like a dramatic teenage girl from a cliché movie. But dammit, clichés have basis in truth, and that kiss promised a whole hell of a lot.

“The rest” his ass.

Well…

Hopefully _Steve’s_ ass.

**Author's Note:**

> [The Tumblr](http://fireflyslove.tumblr.com/)


End file.
